


Believe Me When I Say Fuck

by Rag



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Bulges and Nooks, Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, Clonefucking, FaceFucking, First Time, Flushed Romance | Matesprits, Hair-pulling, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Mild Genital Torture, Multi, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Self-Hatred, Selfcest, Unhealthy Kismesissitude, Violent Sex, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-04
Updated: 2018-04-04
Packaged: 2019-04-18 12:00:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14212686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rag/pseuds/Rag
Summary: karkat goes and fucks himself





	Believe Me When I Say Fuck

**Author's Note:**

> read the tags carefully if stuff like this can freak your bean, please

Karkat hears a knock on the doorframe, but he doesn’t look up from his computer. He’s almost done setting up his combo, he can pause it after. “What.”

“Random question.”

“ _What_.”

“Hypothetical.”

God damnit, is he really going to make him pause? “Dave-“

“Does it count as cheating if you’re fucking a clone of yourself?”

“Fuck!” Karkat’s twitches and presses the wrong key and the whole combo is fucking shot and _what, why, what the fuck_. He swirls around in his chair to look at Dave. “Ex-fucking-cuse me? What the fuck?”

Dave grins. “Like, not a time-displaced version. A literal clone. Thoughts?”

Karkat’s face flushes and he grimaces. What the _fuck_ is Dave thinking, disrupting him for _this_ humiliating bullshit? This is antagonistic and weird and the kind of petty shit that they moved past _years_ ago.

“My thoughts are that you should fuck off.”

“Okay. Well. I think it’s not cheating. Just saying. You know. If you were into that.” He waggles his eyebrows. “I know you’re into it,” he stage whispers.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? You’re being an asshole.” He turns back to his combo. Which he has to restart. Dave can get to apologizing or explaining himself any time now.

“Oh, no, babe, I’m not. Well. Maybe a little. But only because I don’t know how to present the issue. But there is an issue. Not an issue as much as an event. Or a happening. The happening. And maybe it’s not totally random or hypothetical anymore, is what I’m getting at, right, like, it’s not just me waltzing in here and being a dick for no reason.”

Karkat is exhausted just trying to follow that. “What the hell are you trying to say?”

“I figured out how to make clone copies with the materializer.”

Karkat blinks and slowly turns around to face him again.

Dave looks giddy. He’s tapping his hand against his thigh and grinning like a fucking lunatinc.

“No you fucking didn’t.”

“No, I totally did. And I thought about fucking myself with it-”

Karkat’s brain short-circuits. “You what.

“But then I was like, you know what? I can do that whenever I want. As you know. As you _know_ , you know?” He waggles his eyebrows. Karkat despises him. Karkat loves him. Holy shit. Holy shit did he- Karkat can barely think. Just memories of Dave pailing himself with his time bullshit, and the idea that _now he can finally fucking do that himself._

“You really fucking- how-“

“By accident, right. Pressed a few buttons and out pops another Dave.”

“What.”

“Press a few buttons and in he goes back in. Minimal discomfort. I mean, definitely some discomfort. Like you’re stuffing two brains in one brain sausage case. But it’s not terrible. Probably less terrible than I made it sound with that. Really, it’s fine, I’m fine, you’ll be fine.”

“What the fuck?”

“I tried it twice and made sure it was extra safe. And I’m still here, right, and I definitely didn’t temporarily die along the way. I notice stuff like that. So, uh. Anyways.” He wiggles his eyebrows again. “How interesting is that game, dude?”

*

The thing is, Karkat has been sorely lacking in the spades department since he started dating Dave. That’s fine. Dave is great and the quadrants are an ideal, a goal, not a survival need. But sometimes he craves it. And Dave might be as rough as he could bring himself to be (which, uh, wasn’t saying much) but it never scratched that itch. But that was fine, and fantasies had been plenty until now, because Karkat didn’t think it could actually be part of his life. It would have been way more trouble than it was worth. Dave couldn’t make time-displaced copies of other people, only himself. And Karkat really didn’t want to initiate the dance of awkward bullshit that would be spades dating another troll at this point in his life. It’d be weird, it’d make things weird.

But now it’s in his house. Now it’s in their bedroom. (For the first time, Karkat doesn’t mind that Dave put the fucking machine in their bedroom) Now Dave is laying down his terms instead of just fucking telling him how to work the damn thing, because he’s an asshole.

_I’ll show you what to do if you let me watch the first time._

_Fuck off._

_Babe, please? It’d be so hot._

_You’re sick._

_Totally, and you’re the cure._

_Gross. Fine._

_Yeah? Really? For real? Are you really into it? Shit, I mean, I can fuck off if-_

_I said yes! Shut up and just press the fucking buttons!_

_Nice._

Dave shows him how to work the machine. He has him do it himself so he remembers for next time (eyebrow waggle). And then he steps back.

The machine starts to whir. Karkat feels something vibrate deep inside of himself, and then his vision goes white.

When he comes to, he’s looking at himself.

Revolting. Is that really what he looks like? This was a mistake. He’s horrible to look at. His eyebrows are fucking heinous, like fat, hairy caterpillars. His nose is way too small for his face. His eyes are these fucking gross beady squishy soft _red_ fucking disgusting adult color bullshit-

“Fuck yeah,” Dave says from the other side of the room. “Double hot boyfriend action time.”

The other Karkat looks at him, and he knows he’s thinking the same thing. He can see the revulsion plain on his face. It infuriates him.

“Do you have a _single_ fucking ounce of manners?”

“Not when I’m faced with _that_ , no.” God, is that what he sounds like? His voice sounds _awful_ when it’s not coming from his own throat, and it _needs_ to fucking stop.

“Stop talking. Please have mercy and just shut the fuck up. I can’t stand hearing that shit.”

“And force me to listen to _your_ shit instead? No.”

He’s smug and disdainful and it looks so _stupid_. Karkat cringes. God. That’s how he looks. That’s how he _sounds_. This is how people see him. Every fraction of an ounce of self-esteem he’d built up by willfully ignoring his physical form was a revolting mistake and a sin against nature. Dave was wrong, nothing was distorted, he was seeing reality for what it is.

“How much more time do you want to waste before we fucking get to it?”

The other one gives him a disgusted glare, and _god_ it’s fucking ugly. Then he lunges forwards.

He’s kissing himself. He’s actually literally kissing himself right now. How many years had he thought about this. The taste of his tongue is fucking weird. It’s nothing. It tastes like nothing, but it’s wet and firm and it’s weird and wrong. Human tongues are softer and it’s been so long since he’s done this with another troll. It’s so much rougher. The bright shocks of pain spark something in him and he bites back just as hard at his double’s lips. He wants to hurt him, he wants to be hurt by him.

“Get on the fucking bed, or get on your fucking knees.”

Karkat ignores the throb of arousal that shoots through him. He opens his mouth to snipe something back, and then there’s blinding pain in his scalp, and the other one is tugging at his hair way too hard. It’s agonizing. It’s _perfect_. He cries out and flinches back and it just makes it that much worse.

“Get. Fucking. Down.”

The hand on his head pushes down, and he buckles. It’s humiliating. He shouldn’t enjoy submitting like this, it shouldn’t open his sheath. Before this started, he had ideas about the way the two of them would battle for dominance and how it would take hours before one of them finally took it. Idiot. Apparently fucking not. He doesn’t know why it feels so good to just crumble for himself like dry mud. He wonders if it feels half as good for his double to do this to him. It must. He wouldn’t put himself out for himself.

He takes a deep breath, trying to get some of his composure back. He wants to open up the pants in front of him and taste his gross bulge, but he wants to force the other one work for it, he wants to make him even half as pitch as he’s feeling right now. He looks up.

“And?” he asks.

The hand on his still-sensitive scalp tightens. He screams.

“Woah, holy _shit_! Babe, are you okay?”

Fuck. Karkat wheezes, and the other one lets go. Fuck Dave for making him admit this in front of _him_. Fuck him for making it weird with the matespirit shit in the middle of _this_. No one is supposed to love him when he does this. He looks over hazily. Dave’s pants are open but he’s sitting up with a worried look on his face. Karkat gives him a thumbs up.

“You sure?” Dave asks, but he leans back.

“Don’t worry,” the other one says, and Karkat wants to plug his ears, his voice sounds so _wrong_ , “I know exactly what I want. Intimately. Completely.” Karkat’s breathing picks up, and the other one’s voice gets quieter, more intense, just for him, not for Dave. “And what I _want_ is for this dumb fucking slut to suck my bulge.”

He complies. He pulls down his double’s pants and underwear. Of course it’s out. Of course it’s writhing. Of course he’s going to suck it and just hope that the other one decides to fuck him instead of using his mouth as a bucket, and fucking loathe him if he doesn’t. He could see himself doing that, maybe? He’s enjoying himself so much that there’s no way the other one is getting as much out of it, and maybe he’d feel justified denying him any stimulation. If he all this work into setting the mood, why should he bother with anything else?

It tastes fucking gross. It’s awful and weird and the other Karkat shoves his head down deep on it. He gags as it strokes the back of his throat.

“Fuck. Yes,” Dave says, and Karkat can hear him jacking off. And then the other one grabs his horns -- too hard, of course -- and forces his head back and forth and all he can hear are the wet sounds between his-not-his legs and the gross grunts coming out of his throat. His knees hurt. His horns hurt. He’s fucking soaked.

“You’re pathetic,” the other one says, and Karkat’s nook drips in anticipation. He wants more, he wants to hear it. “You’re not even fucking fighting back. What’s wrong with you? Fucking useless. Why is this inside of me. Worthless.”

He’s right, he’s so right, he's worthless. Karkat moans and the other one squeezes his horns in punishment.

“Nice to finally fucking shut you up, though. Can’t stand your stupid voice.”

That pisses him off. Fucking idiot hypocrite. He knows that Karkat has to hear it now, because the other one won, and that it sounds just as fucking awful to him. And Karkat just can’t let that sit, because he’s a glutton for punishment. He runs his hands up his double’s thighs and then digs his claws in deep. The bulge in his mouth gushes wet at the same time that the other Karkat yelps. And then he’s being pulled up, roughly, by his arms. He shakily gets his footing.

“What the _fuck_ was that?”

“For making me fucking listen to you,” Karkat says hoarsely.

The other ones eyes burn, and he grins.

“Get on the bed.”

“It’s called _asking_ , dickhead.”

Instead of bantering back, the other Karkat just pushes him. Animal fear takes over as he has to get his balance, and the other one doesn’t let up. And then his legs are hitting the bed at the wrong angles and the other one is pushing him down and _fuck_ he’s heavy, jesus fucking shit he’s huge compared to Dave, and he usually has to give some when Dave pushes him down but this Karkat can actually hold him wherever he wants, if he’s at an advantage. And he is. And Karkat is under him, and he knows how fucking bad they hate each other, and god his nook is soaking his underwear and now the other one’s bulge is slapping against the fabric, it knows it’s there and it’s wet and ready and, and his pants are the only thing keeping him from getting fucked right now.

“Fucking slut.”

Karkat bites his lip. He probably looks disgusting at this angle. He can feel his own breath, hot and warm, on his skin.

Dave whistles from across the room. They both look over.

“Is there a problem?” the other one asks.

“Fuck no dude. Dudes. This is freaky as hell. You’re so hot and now there’s _two_ of you? And now you’re gonna _fuck?_ ” Dave gives him two thumbs up. “You’re gonna fuck, right?”

“Yes, Dave, we’re gonna fuck,” Karkat says. The other one turns to glare at him and he shudders. Not his place, not his choice, he’s a defiant little aberration-

“Fuck yeah! That’s so hot! Don’ mind me.”

Karkat grimaces. It’s a lot fucking harder to accept that _you’re so hot babe oh wow such a babe holy shit, look at this tall pour of sexy in my bed_ shit when he has to look at himself, look at how Dave sees him when he’s half naked with his bulge out. Ugh. He’s glad Dave likes it, apparently, somehow, but also, how? How. Is he blind? There was this theory he read somewhere that maybe everyone sees color differently, which is fucking stupid because red is red and it’s fucking wrong, but maybe that’s happening with Dave, he’s seeing Karkat as Leonardi DiCaprio and doesn’t realize that Karkat is actually _this_ fucking amalgamation.

And then the other Karkat is right in his fucking face, then whispering in his ear.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he says. “And you're right. We’re fucking hideous. Now just stay still if you want to get fucked.”

Fuck him. Fuck him for knowing that would stun him stuck between belligerence and arousal. Fuck him for having the upper hand. At least he knows he must enjoy having that control, both by the way it wrenches his gut to think it might be him on the other side of this, and the way that his double hasn’t demanded he fight back yet. He likes it. And then he starts to smell the rank odor of god knows how many weeks since he washed that stupid shirt.

“You smell like a fucking zoo,” he says, because it’s true and he knows it’ll hurt and he sees his double cringe, and it does, and he wants all the fucking punishment he can possibly wring out of him.

“Whose fault is that?”

“Are we going to get philosophical? Learn to do fucking housework, you depressed piece of shi-“

The other Karkat shuts him up with his mouth and his weird tasteless tongue. His nails dig into the skin of his forearms and Karkat feels the skin tear in several sharp points of pain. One hand lets go of him and roughly tugs his sweatpants down. Karkat gasps and wiggles his way out of them. Like a dumb slut.

And then nothing. His double pulls away and just looks at his bulge. Just stares at it for a year and a half. It’s humiliating. He _knows_ he looks stupid and he _knows_ the other one thinks so and why, why is he pushing all these awful buttons and not just getting to the main event?

“Take a fucking pictu-“ The other forces his fingers in Karkat’s mouth, _fuck_. No, fuck that, fuck him. Karkat starts to bite down.

“No, no no no.”

The other Karkat grabs his bulge. It feels so _good_ for just a second until he squeezes the base a little too tight, and Karkat’s eyes go wide.

His double is staring at him. “Consider your actions,” he murmurs. His eyes have a little bit of a crazed look to them.

Holy _shit_. Holy shit. Karkat’s bulge thrashes between his double’s fingers. He’d never told Dave about that particular little kink, it was too fucked up and he was worried he would freak him out. He’s kind of furious at his double for doing this _in front of him_. Apparently he’s not the only dumb fucking slut letting his bulge do _all_ the thinking. Fucking idiot. Fucking idiot with his bulge between his fingers and a glean in his eyes that tells Karkat that he’s looking for any excuse to ruin this for him.

It’s stupid and awful and so self-indulgent and _everything_ that he’s wanted out of this. It’s exactly on the line of too far. This entity, him-but-not, is terrifyingly out of his control and actively antagonistic towards him, him in particular, him most of all -- and he knows exactly what Karkat wants, and he’s doing it for him. For them. He knows every single fucking thought that’s flitted by his stupid thinkpan, he knows every weird fantasy he’s pailed to, and he knows every button to press.

A thrill of fear rackets down his spine. He _knows_ that the other Karkat won’t have any compunctions about squeezing slapping his sad little bulge back into its sheath and then fucking him like that, whether or not he comes, and he would enjoy it, and they both would enjoy it, and he would hate it, and he doesn’t want it just a little bit more than he does. He loosens his jaw.

His double grimaces. “Is your dignity really worth one worthless orgasm? Fucking slut.”

And now he’s tempting him. Karkat hates him so fucking deeply. His double looks at him and grins when he fails to bite down harder.

“Useless freak,” he says, and then gently strokes his bulge. Karkat’s eyes roll back in his head, he’s too worked up.

“Hell fucking yeah! Jack him off!” Dave says.

Karkat’s brain stutters out. Thinking about Dave right now is like trying to switch into a language he barely knows when he’s fucked up on sopor. Or like swimming through solid clay. It’s not happening.

“Spread your legs.”

He spreads. And finally the other Karkat takes his hand out of his mouth and-

“ _Fuck!_ Warn me, you fucking-“

“Oh, fuck off, you’ve had more in there. I’m making sure you’re wet enough. You should thank me. I’m doing so fucking much for you, you lazy slut.”

Karkat flushes and struggles to think against the too-big intrusion in his nook and the pain in his tongue, scalp, legs, chest. “Wet enough for _your_ fucking wriggler’s bulge? Better get the lube, might tear me open.”

And his double pushes his fingers in deep, way deeper than anything else has ever gone, Karkat feels like he can feel it in his _throat_. He tries to back away from it and he just pushes deeper. He makes a choked sound and hears his double laugh.

Karkat pulls back and wipes his hand off on his shirt. He doesn’t give any warning before spreading his folds and diving right in. Karkat gasps and tries to steel himself.

His bulge isn’t as big as most bulges, but Karkat has a feeling his nook isn’t, either. Everything about him is so fucking small. _Everything_. And the other Karkat is so fast with it that it burns just as much as he’d always fantasized about.

“You’re so fucking pathetic! Get a little fucking dick in you and you fucking lose all two of your fucking redeeming qualities!”

“Wrong!” Dave calls out.

The two of them go still and stare at him. Karkat pants. Again with the weird mood whiplash of a matespirit who shouldn’t be there and a spadesmate who knows what he needs. He can’t make sense of it.

“Just saying,” Dave says uncomfortable. “Anyways. Continue.”

Karkat sees his double roll his eyes, then look at him for a split second before turning away with a grimace. He burns with shame and pain and humiliation. He’s too ugly to look at. Dave tells him he’s beautiful but Dave is biased, Dave is an exception, Dave has weird tastes.

The other Karkat is right about him being a freak. Dave is missing context. He really _is_ a pathetic slut, and an awful troll, because the second he starts to take it he completely loses the ability to fight back. Every time. Every single fucking time, he just feels too good to keep his wits about him. It was never really relevant until now. Apparently it’s pretty normal for humans, and Dave thinks it’s was super hot. Karkat knew better. He’d read enough novels and heard his friends talk about hooking up, he knew you weren’t supposed to lose yourself so much, not like this. And if you did, you weren’t supposed to _enjoy_ it. It’s no wonder he can’t stand to look at himself like this. His pleasure is a physical representation of what a fucking mutant freak he is. On top of being ugly as sin, of course. He covers his face with his arm so that neither of them have to see each other anymore.

“First good idea you’ve had since we split,” the other one says, and starts to thrust.

It’s brutal. He picks up speed so fast, and his thrusts are so rough that Karkat can barely take it, but he loves it. He barely keeps himself from begging for more, if only because he knows how fucking pathetic it would be, and he has some standards for himself and he doesn’t want Dave to see that.

Eventually the other Karkat picks him up, digging his nails into his hips almost enough to break skin, and rolls him over. So that he doesn’t have to look at him anymore. He doesn’t have to say it. They both know. He sighs. “That’s better. Fuck, why am I so tight?”

He brings his hand down hard on Karkat’s ass. The slap rings out and the pain blooms across his skin, and then he grips the sensitive skin hard, way too hard.

“Fuck! Shit!”

“You get tighter when you’re in pain, you know that?”

Karkat moans and his eyes flutter shut. The other one drags his nails down his hips and groans. His bulge is getting bigger and Karkat is tingling from his toes to his fingers. He feels so _alive_ , forced into his awful body but outside of it, beyond it, somehow taking pleasure from someone forcing their pleasure out of it.

 Karkat floats on that painful, blissful pleasure cloud until the other one slows down.

“What?” Karkat demands breathlessly. “Are you gonna come already? Not even bother getting me off?”

“Oh, cute,” he huffs. “I know you know better.”

Karkat groans. “Yeah, of course you wouldn’t, you lazy piece of shit.” Karkat reaches down to stroke his own bulge, because someone has to fucking do it.

The other one grabs his hand and twists it behind his back. And then the other one.

“No! Fuck off! What the fuck! What the _fuck?!_ ”

He slows down further, pushing his bulge in _deep_. “ _I’m_ lazy?” he says lowly, right into Karkat’s ear.

He seems genuinely pissed.

Karkat shakes.

With his other hand, he grabs Karkat’s hair and pulls him up by it, talks over his cries of pain and desperation. “Me? I’m the lazy one here? I give you your fucking bottom bitch fantasy, I pull out the stops, I fuck you until your stupid slutflaps quiver, and _I’m_ lazy?”

Karkat moans as his bulge grinds deep inside of him. “I’m sorry-“

The hand in his hair tightens horribly. “Don’t. You fucking. Dare.”

He doesn’t. He doesn’t dare. The other one lets go of his hair and reaches down to grab his thick, swollen bulge.

“I should pinch it.” Karkat gasps and forces himself not to beg. _Shut up, stay quiet, shut the fuck up for once in your stupid life._ “You’re such a fucking brat. I’m giving you _everything_ you want and you call me _lazy_ for using you like the barely-sentient flesh bucket you are? God forbid _I_ get something out of this.”

Karkat doesn’t know if it’s intentional, but he’s getting close, just listening to his double’s words seething in his ear. Does he know - of course he knows, of course it’s intentional, how stupid _is_ he? He blows his own fucking mind. His double is doing this for _him_ because their experiences are going to meld soon and he’s going to be just as fucked as he is, and he wants Karkat to come because he wants to be a good kismesis, because that’s totally meaningful at this point in the life, fucking idiot, it doesn’t matter anymore-

“Stop overthinking _everything_ , you completely useless fucksponge.” He feels sharp teeth dangerously close to his neck. And then they sink down, right as the bulge inside of him burrows just a little deeper, and he tips over the edge.

The other Karkat doesn’t stop. He fucks him harder. It’s perfect. Karkat blacks out to pleasure and comes back to the sparking overstimulation of a bulge thrashing too hard in his too-sensitive nook. He thinks it’s his genuine whimper of pain that sets the other one off. He thinks he comes again when he really does use him as a bucket, uses his own fucking nook as a bucket. Way too much genetic material stuffs his sore nook and he swears he can feel it hit his seedflap before streams start to trickle down his legs.

The other one pulls out eventually, and then rolls over.

Karkat kind of loses track of time for a while. Then Dave is patting his legs clean with a towel and helping him get dressed.

“Shush, you’re not the one who just got fucking railed, you don’t need help walking.”

Karkat cuddles into him, even though having flushed relations so soon after pitch is probably profane and definitely taboo. The other one grumbles. Dave tells him he’ll get his cuddles once he merges back together.

And then he’s in the machine, showing Karkat how to _do the mergy thing so you can get your weird troll needs met without me_. Karkat doesn’t absorb any of it. That’s fine. The other one seems to get it. The other one kisses Dave and Dave wraps his arms around him. Karkat looks away, it’s too fucking weird.

The machine whirs to life. For a second, Karkat feels like he’s going to explode. There’s too much stuff inside of him, too many thoughts, feelings, memories, cells, blood, everything. Then it slowly starts to make sense. He remembers the vicious, self-defeating delight he took in putting so much effort into such a viscerally disgusting pitchmate, one who just laid there and moaned like a whore, as clearly as he remembers spreading his legs and taking it and barely stopping himself from begging for more. He remembers tugging at his double’s hair and wondering how bad it would hurt when they merged, and the thrill of hurting someone who _really_ fucking deserved it.

And it’s all. So. Good.

It scares him a little, how perfect it was. It’s everything he dreamt of when he fantasized about being his own pitchmate. It shouldn’t feel so dangerous. It’s natural. It’s a completely natural part of being a troll, to hurt and be hurt and enjoy it all. Is it supposed to feel this scary? This exhilarating? Karkat shivers.

“Hey, babe, you okay?”

He nods. Dave wraps his arms around him. Safe, warm, and loved, somehow, despite everything that he is. Dave is too good. Maybe Dave is missing something. No, probably not. Karkat doesn’t like to follow this mental trail too long. He just knows that Dave loves him, for some reason, and that Dave isn’t stupid, and those mismatching facts will never be able to resolve with each other. And that’s fine.

“That was _really_ fucking intense.”

“Yeah.” Karkat nods.

“And super fucking hot. Babe. Two Karkats. Fucking each other. I nut so hard I literally died. God tier is the only reason I’m still here.”

Karkat has no idea how to respond to that. Nothing even begins to come to mind.

“Thanks,” he says, like a moron. It occurs to him that Dave gave him this. Fuck, it’s so hard to think. “Thanks for, uh, letting me do that. You know? Thanks.”

“You know what, I totally saw this coming, too.” Dave picks him up and floats out of the room.

“What-“

“Taking you to the cuddlezone, you’re in the subbiest of subspace. You’re all kinds of meatball and turkey and deep sea exploration right now. Which I thought might happen when you started facefucking yourself by the horns. Did I tell you how hot that was? That whole thing was really fucking hot. You’re kinky as hell.”

Karkat has tried to explain to Dave that pitch mating and human BDSM are different. He never seems to understand. That’s fine. Karkat doesn’t have the mental capacity to explain the finer points of post-pitch vulnerability recuperation periods right now. And the idea of Dave giving him the subspace treatment right now is really, really good. Cuddles and blankets and kisses and saying things Karkat doesn’t deserve to hear, and telling him that he does. Yeah. That sounds good. That sounds perfect.

“Sure. Okay. I love you,” he says. His voice sounds so hoarse. He guesses he’s been talking for two for the last half hour.

“Heh. I love you too.”

On their way to the couch, Karkat realizes that Dave showed him how to use the machine. Meaning, he can use it whenever the fuck he wants. He shudders. That sick, excited, dangerous thrill wrings at his gut. He can’t wait to try it again.


End file.
